


The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys Kissing, Death timer AU, M/M, Newt dies, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a world where everyone's got a timer counting down to their inevitable death- except, it's impossible to read your own. Newtmas fluff. Lots of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIIIIGGGGHHHT this is my contribution to the "death timer AU" prompt that's been floating around tumblr.

Everyone on the face of the planet has one. A panel of glass embedded in their wrist, with a combination of vibrant blue numbers ticking down the decades, years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds to their death. The predicted fates were inescapable. No matter how much research and effort went into removing the glass clocks, or somehow freeing the human race from the chains of fate, the clocks ticked on. 

The funny thing was, you couldn’t read your own countdown. If one looked to their glass screen, they would see nothing more than a steadily pulsing blue blur. If you tried to tell another how much time they had left, your voice mysteriously shut off for the next two minutes. And though it sparked frustration and anger into every human heart, people learned to just live with it.

NEWT  
You awaken to a facefull of sunlight. Someone had come into your room and pulled the curtains open, probably your sister, Sonya. She’d also left you a plate of blueberry waffles. It doesn’t make sense. Sonya doesn’t like you much and only ever makes breakfast on the weekends, but hey, you’re not complaining. Blueberry waffles aren’t going to eat themselves. Even stranger than the homemade treats was the way Sonya actually helped you down the stairs, telling you not to strain your bad leg. 

On the way out the door, your mother actually gave you a kiss and held you by the shoulders, lovingly taking you in with her eyes. Both of them are sitting side by side in the kitchen window, watching the bus pull away from the curb. You wonder what’s gotten into them, but get overwhelmed by fatigue, and sleep the whole way to school.

Stares and whispers follow you wherever you go, in the bathroom, in the crowded hallways, echoing off the gym walls. You’ve learned years ago to ignore it. In economics class, your teacher hands you your latest test, an A you didn’t deserve, and tells you good job.

That Teresa girl offers to share her chocolate bar with you, and Harriet talks to you all through lunch, sharing jokes and making you laugh so hard you nearly pee. None of it can cure the hollow, dark sense of suspicion that’s been there since you opened your eyes. The afternoon arrives, bringing more random smiles and pats on the back. 

Physics is your favorite class. Not because you actually understand physics, oh hell no. It’s because Thomas Green sits next to you and he makes you feel like you could fly. Today, he spends the first half of class whispering sarcastic commentary on what the teacher says, making you giggle and blush.

“You should know this by now, how fast does light travel?” the teacher asks

“Hella.” Tommy murmurs, making you struggle for dear life to keep your laughter in. You fail miserably, and the teacher sighs. 

“Hey, Newt?”

“Yeah?”

“After school, would you maybe want to go for ice cream or something?”

You blink stupidly at him, trying to babble out an answer, finally gasping a delighted “Yes!”

The two of you walk through the park, ice cream cups in hand, just talking. Thomas, or Tommy as you boldly call him, is a good listener. You tell him about your passion for poetry and collecting things, about how annoying Sonya is, about that time two Christmases ago when you went ice skating, fell on your face, and had to get four stitches. 

Suddenly, you’re telling him about the outstandingly horrible year called eighth grade. About how you threw yourself off a roof and shattered your ankle. Tommy slides his fingers through yours, and gives you a sympathetic squeeze. 45 minutes and 2 ice creams later, you’re sitting next to Tommy on a bench, not sure if you should put an arm around him or lean on his shoulder or what. 

“Newt?” Tommy was blushing.

“Huh?”

“Would it be weird if I told you I’ve liked you since eighth grade?”

WHAT? A laugh burst forth, out of happiness, and out of irony.

“That means- shit, we could’ve been a thing for YEARS already!” You glance down at his timer- 5 decades, 5 years, 4 months, 29 days, 10 hours, 37 minutes, and 4 seconds. Even though you’ve got another 55 years of chances with Tommy, you feel so stupid for never telling him before.

“Oh, thank god,” Tommy said, releasing a lungful of air, “Wait, you’ve liked me too?”

“I- well… yeah.” you reply sheepishly.

“I thought I really ought to tell you now since-” Tommy gulped, “Since we’re in junior year, and there isn’t that much time left before we’ll be graduating and going out into god knows what.”

“Right.” Before you know what’s happened, Tommy’s covering your mouth with his own, cradling your head between his hands, running his thumbs across the tips of your ears. It’s slow and gentle, sweeter than the gummy bears you had in your ice cream. 

 

THOMAS  
You allow yourself a glance at the timer on Newt’s wrist- 57 seconds left. You have to make sure he goes out happy and relaxed, even if he gets hit by a car. Perhaps that’s what’s about to happen. Perhaps the two of you were destined to die together, kissing on a bench. 

49 seconds left. Newt is such a precious, beautiful boy, its so unfair. 

40 seconds. You pry his lips apart with your tongue, earning a tiny whimper. 

30 seconds. It’s all you can do to keep from breaking down, but Newt deserves a peaceful death. You should at least provide him that.

25 seconds. He doesn’t notice the hot tear running down your cheek, he doesn’t notice the slender black spider creeping up his leg either. You kiss him harder.

NEWT  
You’re floating through heaven, you swear it, Tommy’s got you bundled in his arms, kissing you like there’s no tomorrow. His hands are pushing through your hair, you’ve got your tongue down his throat, and OW. You break away from the kiss with a gasp to clutch at your ankle. The area is already swelling up. You curse under your breath. 

“Something bit me,” you explain. Tommy’s crying. Why’s he crying? Your whole field of vision pulses with a black wave, you groan, dizzy and weak. You can’t see, but you can feel Tommy’s warmth pulling you in tight, holding you and kissing you until the end.

THOMAS  
Your heart shatters as you watch the light in Newt’s eyes and the light of the timer dim simultaneously. 

You should’ve told him sooner. You should’ve been there for him every minute of every day. 

But you’re left all alone, clinging to the lifeless shell of the most wonderful boy you’ll ever meet, shaking with sobs.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated =)


End file.
